Saturday, 5 May 2018

diabolical logic.

it's now, or not now
but not never.
you promised me forever
but then you forgot.
i understand but
i have to think about the burning.
did you ever wake up
in the middle of a nightmare
that started as a love story?
too many bandages
for one person to carry.

the skulls are always smiling,
the boughs of the trees hang low
over the grave that i am
still compelled to visit,
enforced meditation,
not very zen.
driven to sit on the mound
and the cross
think of nothing
think of nothing and bones
think of nothing and his bones.


when we first buried him
my musings were grotesque,
walking corpses in
coffee shops and
everywhere the stench of lillies.
shudders would
rip and claw at my body
and only the sleep of
the dead would

quiet those nightmares.

i lit candles
and said affirmations,
turned to traditional ways.
i let him go, but
not really.
my visits shorten
or lengthen
depending on need.

i come here for the diabolical logic
and when i am done with the
pretty colours i'll move on.

Thursday, 12 April 2018

developing.

developing a habit
as easy as
falling down.
so i make my bed and
gnaw the inside of my mouth,
lying you myself
that this will ever end.

Monday, 9 April 2018

between.

between the scrub
and the sea
you'll find me.
i come here for the calm,
the medicinal waves
changing the way that i think
from chaos to
a new kind of archetype.
i come here for the salt,
for when my lungs scream
their questions that only
the sky can answer
the salt air soothes and mends.
i come here to be
aware but not hypervigilant,
sedate but not sedated,
contained but not boxed in.
between the scrub
and the sea
you'll find me.

gone.

it could have been another woman
but it was the wine.
the effect was the same,
he was absent, vacant,
lost to her.
everything they built
deconstructed slowly,
crumbling with every
dreadful headline
until he was
washed away.

Saturday, 7 April 2018

pantoum.

you show me how strong you are
and i show you i can take it.
there are flaws in our brushstrokes
but still the magic happens.

and i show you i can take it
beading sweat and clenched teeth
but still the magic happens.
there is power in our fragility.

we don't look too closely because
there are flaws in our brushstrokes.
i show you what soft feels like
you show me how strong you are.

while the moon watches.

the moon looks loosely
through the window
while i flirt with danger,
and the drop.
noise turns hollow
and crickets weep
from the pain
of dawn breaking.
i let the last of the darkness
swallow me
as i contemplate
the necessary evil
of revelling in un-wellness.
i find it serves a higher purpose,
a game to scare the shit
out of myself
and roll over into normal.

Friday, 6 April 2018

my superhero.

i wanna channel jane eyre
with the voice of kathryn hepburn.
i'd ride an invisible steed and
together we would map
the bleak landscape.
so wherever there was
a poor orphan child
or some damn selfish bastard
to rescue
we'd be there.

i wanna pull myself up
by my bootstraps
just like jane eyre.
i would still have my moments,
but once the cape goes on
i am a superhero
like jane eyre.

i wanna rise from the ashes
because of jane eyre.
i don't seek redemption
just a choice.
what would jane eyre do?
stay on the bus sista,
ride your own journey.

Wednesday, 4 April 2018

every step.

when she's paying attention
she steps on no cracks
and every tread has purpose.
when she is unwell
her footsteps tell
a different story.
they take tangents
and cross wires
because every tread is
black hole madness.
stasis
is useful
only some of the time.
and choice
is a luxury
reserved for others.

Tuesday, 3 April 2018

heart of the matter.

i have something
caught in my throat.
so i drop into a dreamstate
(because this poem is not about me).
and with my right hand
            reach
                     past
                             my teeth
and over my tongue,
             slip
                   through
                                my gullet
and touch my fingers on
the heart of the matter,
which is that i am lacking.

Monday, 2 April 2018

days.

each day bleeds onto itself
like the day daddy
sent mummy a love letter
in the shape of a crowbar.

every day hurts
like the way the calipers
clamp to my thighs to support
my broken spine legs.

some day this will end.
like an angel calling from
a very dark place i will be gifted
merciful oblivion.

Sunday, 1 April 2018

corny point.

the aesthetics of fire,
sharp, and to the point.
the symbiosis of touch,
too much.
the chemistry of music
when it hits my brain.
the omnipotence of nature,
naturally, it soothes me.
the openness of the tribe,
in numbers we are strong.

five points fall into one and if i have to choose
i'd choose forward,
away,
to you.


Saturday, 2 September 2017

this is a story about a balloon.

(ziggy stardust, david bowie album tribute gig 6/8/17)

i see you with elvis at the 7/11
hear your voice as i walk the aisles.
ziggy lives! i tell myself
as i drop out to music 
i was sure had been written for me.

i camp out in car parks, in weather, in band shirts, in tight jeans, in sleeping bags and in fan packs, flicking off spiders and jonesing for a glimpse of you.

i lie awake dreaming that perhaps maybe someday we will actually, realistically meet. i mean literally, in the flesh. and if that did happen finally, hopefully. maybe i'd say something funny, something funny enough to flick the switch on the beer light and your sweet, sweet hands will get to know me down to the bones.

i hang out with girlfriends, your songs on repeat, riffs rewinding endlessly, endlessly. (can you hear me major tom)? we we do each other's make up to look just like you then we make up scenarios about you and me and you and her and you and me and her.

we draw pictures in our school books then on rainy nights and full moons carve your name in my arm with a compass so you will never leave me. we'd mix our blood with poster paint to plaster on tshirts and in our bedrooms we'd dance and dance and dance, your image on my walls watching over us like a saint. we'd use you for kissing practice as ziggy jammed with the jean genie and our mothers didn't understand any of it.

we were mesmerized, screwed,
we were licked, we were hanging.

there is only one light.

and when i am actually, physically with you, when i'm there in the stadium, when i am one with the masses i push you and i push you and i scream out your name in you thin white face and i'm insane at how insane your music makes me it's like your guitar is jacking my brain.

we never saw it coming.

red mist and red wrists
you took me to mars,
covered in a stardust blanket
i would follow you anywhere.

i see you with elvis at the 7/11
hear your voice from beyond as i walk the aisles.
ziggy lives! i tell myself
as i drop out to music
i was sure had been written
just for me.


Monday, 28 August 2017

is it any wonder?

(fame, david bowie tribute gig 6/8/17)

i'm busy using gold to pass the time
find a penny, find the line
gotta get a raincheck on pain.

can't see the trees but the forest is near
do you remember the time we were clear?
i'm busy using gold to pass the time. 

if it quacks like a duck then follow it
if it smells like paradise follow it
gotta get a raincheck on pain. 

i fly like a kite so i don't pay the fees
of my rock star responsibilities 
i'm busy using gold to pass the time. 

what i need is in your face
what i get is worth the chase
gotta get a raincheck on pain.

sipping cocktails in a land called fame
the pyros fire up in hollow lane
i'm busy using gold to pass the time
gotta get a raincheck on pain.

Sunday, 11 June 2017

ripped off #10 (crazy - willy nelson)

crazy.

i'm crazy for trying,
trying to negotiate an 
adult relationship
in the face of such
childish behaviour. 
i can take the wandering songs,
but not the molasses.

i'm crazy for trying to
make a connection
that can wrap us in answers
to all the hard questions, 
so that it lasts more than
one month
one week
one night.

i'm crazy for trying to
show you my ever lovin' heart,
to be your rock
when all you wanted
was to roll on down the road
to places and people unknown.

i'm crazy,
crazy for thinking
these blues are gunna lift
when you walk into view,
because the bass beat you carry
has a black dog numbness
about it,
about you,
crazy.

Wednesday, 24 May 2017

ripped off #9 (everybody's got something to hide except me & my monkey - the beatles)

everybody's tripping my footsteps,
got something leading to
something slippery, jittery, glittery 
to kill my vibe.
hide me from the darkness 
except when it takes
me out of the chaos
and when that happens 
my suitcase will pack itself and my
monkey and i are out of here.

Sunday, 21 May 2017

ripped off #8 (jungle love - steve miller band)

i love you for your crazy love
your mad crazy love
i love you mad crazy 
crazy love crazy love. 
i make you wait to
make you crazy
crazy love. 
peaches and cream your love
with peaches and cream love
love creamandpeacheslove
making you crazy 
pouring with rain
making me wet your love
your love pours
(creamandpeachescrazy)
pouring like your questions
your attention questions
mad with rain and crazy,
crazy love. 

Friday, 19 May 2017

ripped off #7 (monkey in your soul - steely dan)

you'll be back.

i hear you snoring in the next room. 
you love falling asleep on the couch
hate waking with dagger in the neck neck.

you roar even before you open your eyes. 
you love being primal
hate the way your instincts make you feel. 

i hold all the assets.
you love that i'm responsible 
hate that you can't take responsibility.

i see you through the studio window. 
you love when i watch
hate you have to fight for any attention. 

you storm out at the scent of an argument.
you love the crazy in me
hate that you can't control the monkey in my soul. 

Sunday, 14 May 2017

ripped off #6 (canary in a coalmine - the police)

i am your canary,
you utter one sentence
and i am caged, ready
to go underground.
you send me deep
into the dark recesses
of your subconscious.

clumsily, carefully i stumble
to the place where you can
think about the demons,
i am the silent witness
to the battles that you fight.
clumsily, carefully you watch my face
to know when you are
digging too deep.

then when we can't hold
our breath any longer
you pull me up,
press your lips to mine
until we can forget the 
subterranean nightmare.
you can't go there unguarded 
so i am your canary.

Tuesday, 9 May 2017

ripped off #5 (hide your love away - the beatles)

hide. 

out on the tundra 
under pressure,
especially the staring,
daring citizens with
good intentions
mention i should just
"shut the fuck up"
so i keep walking.

from a distance
mist precedes your arrival. 
i dry my face
and trace the path 
to your door.
you say
"shut the fuck up."
and i keep walking.

seems so easy
sleazy people bounce
from room to room
from bed to bed. 
i can't abide
those kinds so i
shut the fuck up
and hide.

Sunday, 7 May 2017

ripped off #4 (december - collective soul)

surge.

there's a word for the surge that you give me
when i'm looking for a very mellow drama
while december whispers of treachery.

incantations put us both in jeopardy 
take the curtains from the windows for now
there's a word for the surge that you give me. 

i'm caught in the thrawl of heavy delicacies
don't let the blindfold slip baby
while december whispers of treachery. 

your fingers have their own blessed memory
strip my skin so i can be truly naked
there's a word for the surge that you give me. 

now be bold and prepare the weaponry
a soldier rarely multitasks
while december whispers of treachery.

fear of the future has it's hooks in me
so explode with me while there's still time
there's a word for the surge that you give me
while december whispers of treachery. 


Sunday, 30 April 2017

ripped off #3 (i wish i was your mother - mott the hopple)

playtime is over.

pretending the motions
of a happy ending
i come up short.

we can't live on wishes
or second rate love songs,
the rabbit hole calls me.

and it doesn't matter
how many secret altars 
i build
i'll never get far
without crossing a few
thresholds. 

playtime is over,
the drawbridge is up. 

ripped off #2 (badlands - bruce springsteen)

badlands. 

the clay that i am made of
crumbles back into the landscape.
it's gully dry
and sunset will surely catch me,
wrap me in a blanket 
of badlands hospitality.

this mother nature's cradle
is full of nettles and shale
but my boots keep moving,
through the badlands
through the undergrowth 
which is the only growth 
around these parts.

this glorious colour pallette 
ain't gunna save me
when every road i walk on
keeps crumbling into dust.
i blend with the canyons
as distant mesas forshadow
the way through the badlands
and it ain't no sin to be glad to be alive.


Monday, 24 April 2017

ripped off #1 (film noir - gaslight anthem)

run.

i lit a fire that wouldn't go out
dancing around, a true fool in the night
until we consumed the walls and roof of this house. 

one note to burn, ripped from my broken heart
i'm leaving and i ain't coming back
cos you lit a fire that wouldn't go out.

i take the burning roadside,
drive circles round the blazing life i had
until it consumed the walls and roof of this house. 

no one's gunna tell you, no one's gunna say
the bricks you hit will sometimes knock you down
but i lit a fire that wouldn't go out.

and we're all travelling down the same damn line
building from the ashes then sparking the match again
until it consumes the walls and roof of your house.

there's a dirty music soundtrack on the long and open road,
it's left me bloody, but i keep on rolling on
cos i lit a fire that wouldn't go out
until it consumed the walls and roof of this house. 

Sunday, 22 November 2015

business

(what do you do for money honey? ac/dc tribute gig, 24-11-15)

you see me riding round in cars
and hanging out in bars
i'll sell it wherever there's a dollar.
i dress in leathers red
in the car or on a bed
i'll suck your money clean right off the dresser.
so you can wonder all you like
if it keeps you up all night
i don't care, that's just more chance you'll come find me.

as for my kicks
and my dirty, dirty licks... 
my mother said to get things done
you gotta do business with guys who cum.
my mother said to get things done
you gotta earn your money from guys that cum.

you think i'm at your command
and the deeds that you demand
are taking pieces of my very soul,
but i can tell you honey
once i got your money
everything i touch round here is gold.
so you can wonder all you like
if it keeps you up all night
i don't care, that's just more chance you'll come find me.

as for my kicks
and my dirty, dirty licks... 
my mother said to get things done
you gotta do business with guys who cum.
my mother said to get things done
you gotta earn your money from guys that cum.

there's no mystery to this bitch
i'm gunna strike it rich
from schoolboy punks to beaks with big fat wallets.
from up here the view is fine,
close the doors and pour the wine
i'm the business, the pushing, shoving,
          grabbing, stabbing, kneeling, taking business.

as for my kicks
and my dirty, dirty licks... 
my mother said to get things done
you gotta do business with guys who cum.
my mother said to get things done
you gotta earn your money from guys with cum.

Wednesday, 8 April 2015

celebrate

the officer said
"you should always try
to celebrate the victories"
we will be the hollow winners
over being stuffed in a car boot
or down a back alley
we will be a walking testimony
through the parks and streets
without it being in memorial
we will be the warrior women
(and the weapons that i carry
make me bold)
and if ever there's a time to hold
our heads high it is now.

nightmare #1

it started in nightmares
there were always crowds
and the crowds were always festive
often there was food involved
long tables lavished with plates
and platters full of every food group
the message seemed to be
nourish the humans
(while there's still time)
sometimes they were outside
in the parklands, where the
melancholic nightbirds and
rustling undergrowth
did not dampen the
celebratory spirit
i clearly remember the feasting
i was gorging with the best of them
the rest of them
until all of them
turned into vampires.
it is a very real fear
in dreams
hot body spasms
and it's not so much 
their vampire teeth
and catacomb breath
as the thrill that shines
from behind their eyes
as they swoop,
and i run.

Tuesday, 7 April 2015

ode to my gut

in facing the fear 
i find myself wanting 
wanting the paralysis
to stop wracking
my body
wanting to reach out 
for anything with meaning 
wanting, even, to do
penance for my lacking...
it comes from my core
you see 
i let my gut 
control my every move 
it wants nothing 
but attention. 

queen of my nieces

i only have a very short time
to be queen of my nieces,
where i get to blow bubbles
on heir tummies,
whisper christopher robin
in their ears,
tell them stories they don't 
understand yet
but one day will.

it's our time to dress up
in butterflies and gumboots,
tiaras and tulle,
the time to sell mudpies for $500
and for falling over on the grass
cos you've spun too fast in excitement.
it's a time to sit close on the sofa
reading books about bears
and reluctant cats who complain loudly.

already you are changing
as i try to catch your attentions
with treasures from the past,
the art and the music that moved me
as we paste and draw and climb trees
and drink tea made of sand
in the fantasyland
where i'm queen of my nieces.

Saturday, 4 April 2015

no headstone

the stonemason's grave
has no headstone 
the pictures you drew 
have no heart
the night creatures prowl
the streets that i wander
the saints that i follow 
are getting me lost. 

i imagine the blood 
the moon must carry
i return to the earth 
for surrender
the wind fills my ears,
without my permission
and i cannot forget 
the stonemason's grave. 

Wednesday, 1 April 2015

bill

it's five minutes to midnight
and i'm taking a clown's advice,
it's laced with ennui and cynicism
and dick jokes that
we can both laugh at.

i buy him a meal because
i can see that he has been crying,
and over his black coffee steam 
he tells me to abandon the tightrope
and hitch myself to a carny
cos the best any of us 
can expect is mud.

outside the world remains 
ringleader distant, and it's late but there
is still news to deliver.
i promise to plant mushrooms
on his grave so he can carry on
entertaining the living.

Wednesday, 30 April 2014

thirty

lou reed is not tom waits.

turns out that morrissey was writing gay love songs.

elvis in leather, oh my.

when it takes longer to listen to a song than write it 
you must have a bustle in your hedgerow.

the verb to use for listening to music through earbuds
is mainlining.

blondie is.

back to the reed/waits thing, they are both actual angels,
it's just...

some songs demand spontaneous dancing, they are your totems.


twenty nine

to talk about adoration
with the moon.

initially i didn't know
the moon,
but she knew me.

now i only know the moon
from a lover's perspective.

what about the moon
of limited pleasure?

sometimes she pulls
back, but only
with a view
to fullness.

to talk with adoration
about the moon.

Monday, 28 April 2014

twenty eight

take me on that tangent
that you go on,
you know,
the one where we mount 
trusted steeds,
ride through the high streets
shouting *fuck the world
and other noble insults
at the gawping mainstream.

take me to that place
where everything is natural.
where we fill up
on the wonder of the stars,
work hard in the sun
and rain serves to cleanse
and nourish
and grow the amazing.

Saturday, 26 April 2014

twenty six

the bitch card.

i'd rather sail the void
than swim it,
rather dance with devils
than meet them in the park,
i'd rather walk away from the fight
than bring it,
rather burn from both ends
than live in the dark.

i'd rather plan the revolution 
than use it,
rather play my own game
than sticking to the rules,
i'd rather find a pot of gold
than lose it,
rather burn my bridges
than hang around with fools

i'd rather play the bitch card
than let the fuckers win,
rather take my chances
on one almighty spin,
yes i'm throwing all my chances
on one almighty spin.

i'd rather live a good life
than fake it,
rather have my heart ripped out
than get down on my knees,
i'd rather give you everything
than take it,
i'd like to help you neighbourboy
but you're just so hard to please.

i'd rather play the bitch card
than let the fuckers win,
rather take my chances
on one almighty spin,
yes i'm throwing all my chances
on one almighty spin.


Thursday, 24 April 2014

twenty five

as i unbelieve my body
play something sexy and evil,
there's a word for the surge that you give me
while i'm looking for  a very mellow drama,
draw my blood baby.
strip my skin so i can be truly naked,
draw my blood baby
while i'm looking for  a very mellow drama.
there's a word for the surge that you give me
play something sexy and evil
as i unbelieve my body.





twenty four

eating late night bananas and inviting nightmares
i anoint purple as the colour of madness
mediocrity does its best, which is little,
disarm me now.

i anoint purple as the colour of madness
just because it sticks doesn't make it love
disarm me now
prepare for a night full of prizes of mystery.

just because it sticks doesn't make it love
mediocrity does its best, which is little,
prepare for a night full of prizes of mystery
eating late night bananas and inviting nightmares

twenty three

*side effects.

may cause expansion of the heart muscle to actually give a fuck.

caution must be taken with the opposite sex as your hotness may increase dramatically.

may result in your singing voice to improve in tone & pitch.

may cause hair to become long & luscious.

potential to cause elation & charitable thoughts.

always take with chocolate.

for best result take with copious amounts of alcohol.

warning: increased virility.

this drug may give you the ability to *walk a mile in someone else's shoes.

if any of these symptoms persist, stop seeing your doctor because your life is great.

Tuesday, 22 April 2014

twenty two

"The Katauta form was used for poems addressed to a lover. A single katauta is considered incomplete or a half-poem, however, a pair of katautas using the syllable count of 5,7,7 is called a sedoka."

shined your eyes today
sideways smile and deep blue pools
saw comfort reflected there.

tucked under my arm
my muscle memory flares
teddy love knows no endings.





Monday, 21 April 2014

twenty one

pantoum.

i crave you like oxygen, like evidence
i seek you like drugs, like good advice
dreaming naked and dripping with significance
the cake's on the table and ready to slice.

i seek you like drugs, like good advice
and it's no accident i think of you nightly
the cake's on the table and ready to slice
kissing scarecrows makes them more sprightly.

and it's no accident i think of you nightly
resisting the urge to howl out your name
kissing scarecrows makes them more sprightly
slip on your gas mask and prepare for the game.

resisting the urge to howl out your name
dreaming naked and dripping with significance
slip on your gas mask and prepare for the game
i crave you like oxygen, like evidence.

Sunday, 20 April 2014

twenty

i'd rather sail the void
than swim it,
rather dance with devils
than meet them in the park,
i'd rather walk away from the fight
than bring it,
rather burn it from both ends
than live in the dark.
i'd rather play the bitch card
than let the fuckers win,
rather take my chances
on one almighty spin,
yes i'm throwing all my chances
on one almighty spin.




nineteen

around the corner
who knows.
uncle graham is getting older.

the wheels turn
my leg's keep peddling.
uncle graham needs an operation.

distance separates,
but memories connect.
uncle graham's been put on morphine.

the sum of my parts
takes on all comers.
i'm visiting uncle graham next sunday.


Thursday, 17 April 2014

eighteen

lucky country blues.

if it wasn't for the fascists
and the spiders 
and the flies,
if it wasn't for the desert
and the floods
and the climate change deniers,
if it wasn't for the borders
and our racists
and the cultural cringe,
if it wasn't for the wholesale
sell off of our natural resources
and the spiders
and the flies
and the fascists
and the destabilisation
of our way of life by
the corporate money whores
that have infected our land
like herpes... 


seventeen.

fan mail for daniel.

if i painted you a picture
i'd use lots of black paint
and red, & brown
because life is shit.
i'd use a fat brush
and lots of strokes
to show i know you are complex,
made up of many parts.

if i sang you a song
i couldn't sing in tune
i wouldn't need to.
i'd just have to yell a lot
with passion, to sound like
that nihilistic shit you listen to.

i have written stories for you
sunk low then lower to impress you, 
tattooed your name on my arse.
- your loyalty drags us all along
you and your crew, we rise and fall together.

you are my brother from another mother,
you are strong like ten men
and stunted like a puppy runt.
you are clever like a dictionary
and feral as a fine porn mag.

zen brother, big brother, drunk brother
you taught me men can 
feel and listen, every day
you help me find
the middle way...
      it's just between fuck up lane
      and fuck you avenue.

it's in our blood brother
to travel on dreams
and trade in the romance
of the road.

sixteen

before sunrise
there is a serenity
and no confusion.
i wake
absorbing the calm,
walk outside where
the nightbirds are losing
their melancholia.

the air 
is harder to breathe
because everything good
must be fought for.
the atmosphere
touches my skin
as the sky lightens
and opens an embrace
to the potential.

Wednesday, 16 April 2014

fifteen

closing in on paranoia
within this dystopian vista
there must be hope,
or there wouldn't be
anyone left standing.
we all roll the dice
whether we're gamblers
or not and some days
it's a battle to leave
the house,
the room,
your arms.
shadows skew my clothes
tho my outlines are
always flattering.
i could live here.
i'm not sure which way
is healthier, 
but i do know that
without an interconnection,
without the gamble
and the fear
and the hope
then we are all parasites.



Monday, 14 April 2014

fourteen

deciding to embrace mediocrity
as a step out of the void
i write a pome
it will not be full of insight
right now
i am a shallow puddle
place my fantasies
in the hands of strangers
i remain in the cave
i never promised you...
anything.

i do have dreams of my own
diary entries in tattered suitcases
if my life really were
a car accident
then i probably look away
so where do i stand?
or sit?
at your notebooks
a voice whispers
at your notebooks.

Saturday, 12 April 2014

thirteen

with a blindfold on 
we can quench our
other senses in 
a sublime cynicism
that will rub you up
the right way and
the wrong way.

the whole darkness has
consumed our electricity
to elevate our 
esoteric activities.

the mercies you seek
must be fought for,
muscles must rip and
beasts must bay at the moon
before this is finished.

there comes a point of 
tipping and i was rapidly
reaching for it, like
i reach for the branches
of really tall trees,
like i reach for the stars.

st. vitus dances
on my spine as our loins
explode with truth serum and
clarity comes in the arms
of the fireworks that extend
into the sky.

twelve

the moon knows my phases
i show her my many faces
and she reads them all.
she is not active like my mother
slow moving through the sky
and i, drinking tea
in the moonlight
rely on both their counsel.
i love her with a varying intensity,
her song has no title and no tune
yet i still find myself writing nightly 
in her glow.

the sun on the other hand
has less compassion and
offers more comfort.
i am here with the ants
jostling for her attention
the way i did with my father
back through the times i'd
rather forget but instead of regret
i channel the energy to
keep the pen moving.
escaping anything in the sunshine
and wishing on the wind.


Friday, 11 April 2014

eleven

female desire drives evolution
but what happens when
animal magnetism becomes 
the scent of despair?

the idea of sainthood
is mysterious, but ultimately
isn't the idea of miraculous
goodness something to 
which we should all aspire?